


Class Warfare

by manics_and_me



Category: Starter for 10 (2006)
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch character is sexy sort of, M/M, gosh this fandom is small, my plot is not exactly original but hey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manics_and_me/pseuds/manics_and_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spencer develops a social conscience. Or perhaps it's just a skin crawling attraction to a very posh, very pompous git called Patrick Watts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Class Warfare

It's a few months since the UC final that everyone has tactically agreed not to talk about when Spencer goes to visit Brian again. He ends up at a party with him and Rebecca, whom he both likes very much and in no way wants to sleep with (and really, what more could you possibly want from your best mate's girlfriend?) and a few other people he vaguely recognises from the few times he's visited Bristol. Like other university parties, it's not exactly _wild_ , but he's having a good time. Brian seems to have been talking him up as some kind of music oracle, so he's been recommending bands left, right and centre – something he enjoys very much – and just generally enjoying his best mates company. It's good to get out of Southend.

“Hi Brian!” comes a sweet sounding American voice from over Spencer's shoulder. “Oh hi, it's Spencer right?”

He turns to see the girl from the University Challenge team (you know, the one he _hadn't_ slept with), what was it, Laura? - “Hi Lucy,” smiles Brian – _Lucy_ that was it and then behind her-

Ah.

“Oh, it's you,” sneers Patrick, looking at Spencer with disdain he could _physically feel_. “Haven't they locked you up yet?”

Brian's hand is on his arm before he's even aware he's raised it, but at least Patrick takes a step back. Lucy looks fearfully between the two of them, while Rebecca smirks into her pint.

“Patrick,” he says and gives him his most charming smile- which for the record is pretty damn charming. “It's good to see you, I really want to apologise for what happened last time we met.”

“Oh, well.” Patrick narrows his eyes, and glances at Brian as if to verify Spencer's sincerity, so Spencer clasps his hands together awkwardly and looks bashfully at the ground. A study in remorse. “That is, er, quite all right.”

“Next time,” Spencer continues, smile still in place, “I'll make sure I break your nose.”

Brian snorts, and Rebecca laughs out loud (he really _does_ like her) and Patrick scowls and is about to retort when the beginnings of Wham! cut through proceedings like a great gaudy hammer to Spencer's brain and he's roaring “Who the _fuck_ put that on!” and charging towards the record player before Patrick can do anything but look very very angry. It is not unsatifying.

By the time Spencer gets back from sorting through the largely abysmal collection of 7 inches that lie next to the record player (he finally found a battered copy of 'Blue Monday' and it was like finding an oasis in the fucking desert) a giggly mass of girls have arrived and are attempting to sort out a game of spin the bottle. Rebecca is protesting that, as far as she is aware, they are not in fact _fourteen_ but she's laughing and eventually agrees, and Spencer has another pint in his hand and is sitting in a circle before he's sure if he agreed to play or not. Well, he likes kissing people and he's pretty tipsy. It can only be fun. He catches Patrick's eye across the circle and pities whoever ends up with him.

As it turns out, this is a really stupid thing to think, a massive fucking neon sign saying **Hey! Look! Potential for some HIL-AR-I-OUS irony right here** and as such when it is Spencer's turn, he grips the bottle neck with a slightly wonky grip (there have been shots, too), spins it with vigour and watches as it wavers near a girl with long red hair and heavy eyeliner, hovers dubiously over a punky girl with a bleach blonde crop and then stops, decisively, in front of Patrick. Patrick raises an eyebrow (and how, _seriously_ how, can anyone's _face_ be that posh?) and coolly regards the bottle, and then lifts his gaze to Spencer.

“Spin it again.” he drawls. The circle protests. That is not, as the punk girl so succinctly puts it, how this shit works.

“I'm not kissing him, and I can assure you he does not wish to kiss me so-”

“I am _hurt_!” spits Spencer theatrically, without really knowing why. He just knows he's not letting this jumped up tosser dictate whether or not they kiss, that privilege will be Spencer's (and the bottle's, he supposes.) “I am _hurt_ and I am _affronted_ and I am... _hurt_!”

Then he lunges across the circle, fastens his hand around the back of Patrick's neck, who jerks back violently, but whatever, and just fits in his most charming grin (on it's second airing of the night) before he smashes their lips together. He does not hold back. He forces his tongue into Patrick's mouth while he's too surprised to argue, sloppy and wet and lurid-alcopop-tinged and pulls away before he can tell if Patrick was responding or not. He sits back down and winks at the red headed girl, takes a swig of beer and does his best to look utterly nonchalant. Brian wolf whistles (and Spencer loves him in that moment, properly _loves_ him) and everyone laughs, the game is continued. Except, Spencer could swear he keeps catching Patrick staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look his stupid pompous face is always facing away.

Spencer drinks a lot more, lets it slide when someone puts Kylie on, and says a raucous goodbye to Brian and Rebecca who call it a night at about 2am. He's having a good time. He's slumped happily against a wall, spaced out in a pleasant kind of way when Patrick walks past him and he sticks out a leg to trip him up because – well, it's nothing new that he can be a bit of a dick when he's drunk is it? Patrick stumbles but doesn't fall, which is disappointing, and wheels around unsteadily to glare at Spencer.

“What is your problem?” he spits, leaning on the wall next to Spencer.

“You, obviously.” He frowns. It doesn't sound as insulting as he'd like to be, so he improvises. “You insufferable dickhead.” Better. “With your,” he gestures vaguely at Patrick, trying to sum up all his offences in one hand gesture “hair and your shoes and, my God, those jumpers-”

“What is wrong with my jumpers?” Patrick says sharply, and Spencer will be damned if there wasn't a hint of the whiny in his voice. 

“Patrick.” he says, perfectly seriously. “Everything. Is what is wrong with that jumper.” 

“Do you think I should take it off?” Patrick retorts, even the copious slurring not enough to mar his old-money public-school inflection by much, his eyes boring into Spencer's and fuck- is he flirting? Spencer remembers the kiss. For the third time, the charming grin surfaces.

“I think it's all you can do” and Jesus, what is he saying? This guy, really? He's not even attractive in his ugly clothes and his terrible hair cut and his air of total I-am-so-very-much-better-than-anything-you-are-or-ever-will-be and- 

Oh. Well, credit where it's due, with the jumper off Patrick is in just a crumpled white shirt, and his hair has fallen forward, rejoicing in it's freedom from that terrible style, from where pulled the offending garment over his head. The effect is as radical as it is really fucking sexy. 

“Better, do you think?” Patrick mumbles right in Spencer's fucking ear and oh God, he cannot be getting hard from that voice. He is a class traitor. He will never be allowed back into Essex.

“I really, really, can't fucking stand you, you know.” says Spencer, just so they're clear. “You're one of the worst people I have ever met, I think.”

That knocks Patrick's new found, obviously alcohol induced confidence a fair bit (Spencer just knows he would never attempt to flirt with anyone if it wasn't for the inebriation.) He steps back, and there's an ugly twist to his mouth as he obviously tries to think of a cutting reply when Spencer grips the back of his neck again and pulls him towards him. “That's not to say,” he whispers, low and sultry in Patrick’s ear, grazing the lobe slightly with his teeth, “that I am averse to fucking you senseless, toff-boy.” Patrick gasps and Spencer grins wolfishly. It's class warfare, is what it is. 


End file.
